


Pete is a Gangster Fic

by jackycomelately



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackycomelately/pseuds/jackycomelately
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WIP First two chapters of Pete is a gangster fic. Pete is creepily in love, but strangely, Patrick never wanted to be a moll.<br/>Warning: looming sexual menace of the most melodramatic sort. I'll update warnings as I go. I expect it will get more explicit and noncon-ish as I go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
Patrick knew who Wentz was. Fuck, everyone knew who Wentz was in Chicago. He was a gangster who liked to dabble in music. Patrick stayed as far away as he could, but once you reached a certain level Wentz was going to notice you. Patrick wasn’t at that level yet.

Patrick was eighteen and had been in some bands. He liked it a lot. He liked playing the drums, he liked writing his music, he didn’t even mind singing when forced to (like when Jessie was out with the flu).

It was just his bad luck that Jessie being sick, and Wentz being present at the run-down shit hole they were performing at, corresponded.

Patrick sang, the crowd looked mildly interested (good enough!), and Mr. Wentz wanted to see Patrick at his table. Patrick wiped at his sweating face: “Ummm…”

The guy Wentz had sent looked bored, but not particularly scary.

Patrick looked at Joe. Joe shrugged. “Better go, man.”

“Yeah.” He might despise Wentz, but there was not getting involved in crime and then there was being stupid. Insulting Wentz to his face would be monumentally stupid.

He wiped his face and neck, straightened his shirt and followed not-really-scary-looking-guy. Wentz looked scary. He wasn’t very big really, and he was smiling affably enough, but you could sense something was off. Patrick wanted to get as far away as possible.

“Patrick,” Wentz offered his hand and Patrick shook it politely. He smiled politely.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Wentz?” He hoped his voice was polite.

“Oh now Ray, Patrick doesn’t like us.”

Ray lit a cigarette. “That’s a shame,” Ray said deadpan.

“Well, it really is Ray. I think he’s just as cute as a button. And you know how I am about anyone who doesn’t like me.”

“You like to change their minds.” Ray blew smoke out.

“I really really do.” Wentz smiled at him—crazy with a hard edge of lust.

Oh Jesus fuck, thought Patrick.

Okay, don’t panic. He’s probably trying to freak you out. He’s trying to intimidate you. It’s working. Find out what he really wants.

"What is it you want exactly, Mr. Wentz?"

“I want you to perform at my clubs. I want an exclusive contract. I want your soft little ass in my bed.”

Okayyyy. Right. Polite polite polite.

“Mr. Wentz, I… appreciate your interest, but I’m not that way inclined. I’m also still discovering myself as an artist, so I don’t feel it’s in my best interest to tie myself down right now.”

“Oh, well put. He’s smart, isn’t he, Ray? Of course refusing me isn’t too bright, but he did it nice as fuck.”

“Uh, huh,” Ray seemed a little less bored.

“So, just girls so far?”

“Yes, Mr. Wentz.”

“Call me Pete. Well, I’ll be a nice change of pace for you then. And,” Pete smiled at him delighted, “you’ll be one for me too. I don’t think I’ve ever fucked a virgin before.”

“Pete,” Ray’s voice was quiet, “You’re scaring the kid.”

“Oh, fuck, sorry, I’m a little intense I know. No need to get scared. It’s a seller’s market after all. I’m not going to be an asshole or anything to you. Well, I am an asshole, so you kind of have to put up that, sorry, but I can be very nice to you. We just have to work out how you want me to be very nice to you. No reason, we both can’t be happy, is there?”

“Mr. Wentz, I don’t think I can be much clearer. I’m not interested in anything you have to offer.”

Wentz tilted his head slightly at him. “Well, that’s not going to work at all, is it, Ray?”

“I’m assuming not,” Ray sighed.

Finally Patrick decided to go with the truth: “Okay, you’re-really-freaking-me-out-and-I’m-going-to-go.” He began backing away, Pete finally nodded, and Patrick fled.

Ray looked at Pete. “You might want to tone down the psycho just a tad.”

Pete shrugged, “Kid might as well know what he’s getting.”

“Yeah, but if he leaves the state you’re going to be pissed.”

“True.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: looming sexual menace of the most melodramatic sort. I'll update warnings as I go.
> 
> They were doing a gig in Cairo, Illinois. Patrick didn’t even want to be there.

They were doing a gig in Cairo, Illinois. Patrick didn’t even want to be there. After performing in front of a lackluster crowd, the manager of the club was trying to stiff them out of their pathetic fee.

"You guys should be paying me. For the exposure! Bunch of no talent...”

“No reason to be rude."

Oh, shit, Wentz. Patrick closed his eyes.

“Who are you their manager? Let me tell you…”

“Ray, why don't you have a word with,” Wentz gestured expressively.

“Sure thing, Mr. Wentz.” Ray led the now pale manager away.

“That was a great set boys. You really need some management through.”

“We do all right,” Patrick said quietly.

“No, we suck,” Joe sighed.

Wentz met Patrick’s eyes and said resignedly, “Right.”

That was the last time Wentz came to a gig with just Ray. He started showing up with people Patrick admired musically; old time musicians who never got the recognition they deserved. He would invite Patrick to join them. After some stuttering, Patrick usually did. The stories they would tell! The knowledge they had! He couldn’t help but bubble over to Wentz after.

“So much talent! Her third album in particular—so original. It just reinvented jazz. I can’t believe you made her listen to us. It was such an honor to meet her. If she had been born even twenty years later, I’m sure she would have had so much more commercial success. Not that it was all sweetness and light even then for black musicians, but… ”

Pete listened patiently and mused to Ray later, “well, if I ever want an army of retired musicians I know who to get to recruit for me. I’m not sure who was more in love in the end—him or them. I’m started to get a little worried about the competition frankly. I really should have learned to play an instrument,” Pete paused, “and possibly been born sixty years earlier.”

After one memorably bad performance by Jessie, Pete finally asked what he figured was the obvious question.

“Why aren’t you singing?”

“Because I'm the drummer?”

“But everyone wants to be the singer.”

“Ummm no. I want to be the drummer.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Okay.”

“You’re a liar. A lying liar who lies. A lying liar who I wish to lay.”

“How are you a gangster? I mean does anyone take you seriously?”

“I'm not a gangster, I'm a business man.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Sure. Did you think I tell my mother that I'm a gangster?”

“I don't know dude. Maybe you've been planning this since you were five and she's all proud.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “No, she wouldn't be proud if she knew.”

She has to know, Patrick thought, but he kept his mouth shut.

Pete had his charms, but Patrick never forgot what he was. He never forgot what his power and money was built on. He couldn't understand how anyone could. Patrick could see the discomfort in people's eyes; the uneasy awareness.

“Some people like it," Pete said once. “They like that people are afraid of the person they’re with. It’s a power thing. I can get them what they want.”

“Makes me feel kind of sick," Patrick said.

“Yeah," Pete said, "that's maybe the more common reaction."

Patrick was relieved to hear it frankly. There was only so much disillusionment about human nature he could take.

“God you turn me on so much! Who knew that integrity could give such a boner? Come on,” Pete whispered against Patrick’s check. “If I can't get you hard, we’ll stop.”

Patrick leaned away. “It doesn’t matter if you can get me hard or not.”

“Kinky.”

“It's an issue of consent, not arousal, dumbass. And don't pretend you'd be happy with just sex anyway. One thing I've learned is that you’re an emotionally needy fuck.”

“I really think you should actually fuck me before you decide that.”

“You know what I mean.”

Pete shrugged. “I was hoping I'd grow on you. I did on Ray. I mean we don't fuck anymore but…”

“You used to fuck?”

“That's how we met. Drunken one night stand.” Pete frowned. “He's kind of a three beer queer through. I thought he’d get over it, but he never did. I finally said that I didn’t think sacrificing his liver for our sex life was really worth it, and we shifted to friends.”

Huh, Patrick thought, interesting. I totally didn’t get that vibe from Ray. Of course that was before Patrick found out that Ray was a cop.


End file.
